The Defiance of Duskendale: a oneshot
by Eduardo Aranha
Summary: A oneshot in three chapters describing the moment known as the Defiance of Duskendale: what could have happened in canon when Aerys II Targaryen accepted the invitation of Lord Denys Darklyn to hear about the commerce charter he asked. Originally published as a chapter in the fanfiction "A Legacy of Flames".
1. Road

This whole story was written as a chapter of the fanfiction _A Legacy of Flames_ that explores the moment known as the _Defiance of Duskendale_ and describes what could have happened in canon when Aerys II Targaryen accepted Lord Denys Darklyn's invitation to hear about the charter he asked. As you may remember, this was the moment were the reign of Aerys started to fall into madness and he grew fearful of blades and started to be paranoid about his enemies.

Since there is not a lot of fanfiction material about this moment of ASOIAF, I decided to publish this as a oneshot, besides being a chapter of the fanfiction I mentioned. The fanfiction in question explores what could have happened if the events of the Defiance's aftermath had been different, and Rhaegar had married another lady and not Elia Martell. Check it out in my bio, if you are curious.

If not, I hope you still can enjoy this oneshot.

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**THE DEFIANCE OF DUSKENDALE**

* * *

**ROSBY ROAD**

The storm broke during the first day.

"Shit," Uttered Ser Gwayne, as the rain clashed against his armor. The journey to Duskendale could be done in a day and a half at a hasty pace, but not with a muddy road and rainy wind gusting against their eyes.

As predicted, things started going amiss as they proceeded along the Rosby Road. The walls of King's Landing disappeared behind them, lost in a sea of mist. The horses whined angrily, the soldiers shivered inside their armors and the king, more than anyone else, started growing irritated. He barked orders from his horse and complained about Gwayne's capacity to lead their small force.

"This is not a royal procession down the streets of the capital, ser Gwayne." He yelled, when they stopped at Robsy for the first night. Edwin Hayford, squiring to the king, trembled while pouring him wine. "The men are lazy and slow because you let them be. Make sure they travel swiftly on the morrow or I will find a whip to teach them myself."

Even so, sometimes Gods mock the words of kings.

As they resumed their journey under heavy rain, it was the king the one delaying them. A stone entered the horseshoe of his stallion, forcing them to stop for three hours while a man was sent to the nearby village to find a blacksmith. The hope of reaching Duskendale was crushed by something as simple as rock in a horseshoe. Under rain it was decided they would take shelter on the trees of a nearby wood.

"Autumn is upon us." The king seemed to have forgotten his remarks from the previous night. He had changed out of his armor and seemed more comfortable in his tunic. Besides, a glass of wine helped sooth his mad humor. "Yet, I'm sure this vile storm is the work of the myrish whore that oaf took for a wife. I will have her eyes gorged out, and her tongue ripped apart, before I give her a witch's death."

Ser Gwayne was given the privilege of dining with the king that night, since there were no much more companions riding with them. The escort of thirty-soldiers had some distinguished guests among them, but the king didn't want that sort of company for dinner. _Even I deserve a break from those worms_, he justified.

"Tywin wanted me to travel by sea." Aerys said, extending his hand to catch a few drops of rain leaking through the tent's roof. It was astounding how his jealousy for the Hand came up even miles away from the city. "But as I told him, the harlot could play a trick on us. How many stories have we heard about ships sinking thanks to a witch's curse?"

"Yes, Your Grace. It was the right decision." Gwayne replied, refusing Edwin Hayford. The squire was about to serve him wine. "Water for me, boy."

As the squire poured water into his cup, he reflected again on the stories he had heard. Spells of water and fire. He had no place in his heart for magic. He had never believed the tales of old. At his eyes, it was simply an Autumn storm. Nevertheless, it was easier to agree with the king, than to start an argument over an obscure topic like magic. He was no maester.

The conversation went down a different path, as Aerys started reminiscing about the War of the Ninepenny Kings. They could have been delayed, sleeping on tents across the road, but the King was oblivious. He retold them how he had become a knight, somewhere in a battlefield in the Stepstones. Obviously, he omitte the part Gwayne knew for himself: that Tywin Lannister had been the one dubbing him knight.

"One day, if you are lucky, boy…" He told his squire, patting him on the arm. The lad was standing beside the king's chair, holding the wine jug. "One day you might be knighted on a battlefield. I have plans to expand our territories very soon, perhaps even across the sea."

Gwayne forced a smile, noticing the king was looking for his approval.

The man was already known for pronouncing harsh words. _Or rushed ones_. Years ago, Gwayne had heard him talk about building a New Wall beyond the one manned by the Night's Watch, so that new territories could be claimed farther North. Later, he had given up such an idea, but defended the founding of a new city, made of marble stone, on the other shore of the Blackwater Rush. Ideas from a mind that dreamt with greatness. But once again, the Kingsguard knew better not to ask.

"But before anything else, I will deal with Lord Denys." The king continued, sipping from his third glass of wine. "I know exactly how to deal with his sort."

Not much later, the king dismissed him, while his squire helped him change to bed. Gwayne walked out of the pavilion, allowing the king his privacy for a few moments.

Somehow, the cold meat served at dinner revolved in his stomach. He was nervous. _How will he deal with Lord Darklyn?_, Gwayne asked himself, biting the inside of his mouth. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had given him some words before leaving the capital, since he had partaken on the Small Council meetings.

"The king insists going on his own, but we don't believe he will be endangered." Ser Gerold Hightower had told him, convincingly. "His Grace is to be a guest of Lord Denys to hear his petition regarding his request for a charter. That's all, or so we hope."

But then he had closed his lips, tightening them into a thin line.

"Be aware, nonetheless." He added, his eyes stopping for a few seconds on the sword on his hilt. "The king may decide unexpectedly upon the matter—"

_And bring a storm upon our heads_.

Well, his duty was to protect the king, not to detain him from saying rash words. If protection was needed, his sword would be fast and just. _I will shed my blood for the blood of the crown_, he had sworn when taking his vows many years ago.

Unless…

_May the Seven bring you back safely, ser._

The voice of the queen echoed again in his mind. A sweet song of fear. As the light rain fell upon his head, Gwayne looked to the cloudy sky above. _What if?,_ he wondered, feeling the raindrops kiss his skin. Three years ago, he had seen the lower lip of the queen red with blood, where the king had stricken her. It was a vivid memory. Aerys had accused the queen of laying with other men and had slapped her in a moment of rage. There was not a soul at court that didn't know the one sleeping outside marriage was him.

"That _is _blood of the crown." Gwayne had taken no time sharing with the Lord Commander what he had seen. "Should we allow the king to do as he pleases with the queen?"

His cause was a hopeless one.

Ser Gerold had no comfort for him.

"But the true crown is upon whose head, ser?" He asked, peremptorily. "You are an honorable knight. But you shan't meddle in the matters that happen behind the royal bedchamber's door."

Gwayne had decided to be a knight the day his mother had been killed by his father. He was five-years-old, a scrawny boy and the youngest of five children, but he still remembered the pool of blood. The knife in the stomach of his Mother. His Father next to her, drunk, oblivious to his crime. The septon had said once that the man who fought for those unable to defend themselves was an honorable man, so he decided to become one of those men.

"Before swearing vows to the Crown, I swore holy vows to defend the weak, ser." He tried to argue with every argument that came to his mind, but yet again the Lord Commander reminded him that the white cloak on his back made him something more than a mere knight.

"You will lose your head if speak against the king." Ser Gerold said, kindly. "Your intentions are noble. The Seven Kingdoms need more men like you. But this is a cruel world, Ser Gwayne."

Making his peace with the Seven, Gwayne decided then to serve Queen Rhaella anyway he could, never betraying his king. It was a thin line to thread. Nevertheless, he was willing to do it, even if he had to serve her in secret, giving her little bits of comfort. But then, he had saw the hurt tormenting her body, right after the king forbid her to visit Prince Viserys.

It was then he had started to wonder.

_What if I were to fail my king?_

Those were danger thoughts he wouldn't dare speak out loud.

_I shall pray for you to keep my husband safe_, she had said after blessing him. He could still feel her breath, coming from the door. And the scent of her skin, sweet as flowers with a touch of rain.

_Her mouth uttered a prayer, but not her heart._

As the rain started pouring heavily, he gulped, putting his demons aside.

"The king is abed, Ser Gwayne." The squire said, his head appearing between the flaps of the tent. "You can come in."


	2. Dun Fort

**DUN FORT**

The rain had stopped when Duskendale finally emerged on the horizon.

It was an ancient city, expanded many times since the days of the Hundred Kingdoms. The harbor was the great heart of Duskendale, with all the houses, warehouses, markets and septs built from that point onwards. Embracing it all was a wall of pale stone, that maintained the safety of the inhabitants of the port city. The gates were open to receive them, and the banners of the Darklyns flapped in the wind, the cloth wet and heavy due to the storm. Many septs' domes and turrets could be counted from afar, each one taller than the other, as they competed among themselves to reach the Seven Above. But rising above anything else was the square stone castle overlooking the port.

_Dun Fort. _

Gwayne had visited the castle of House Darklyn once, long before being knighted. By then he was squiring to a hedge knight, accompanying him down the road, from castle to castle. He remembered the castle well enough, and the lad who had broken his nose after a quarrel to impress the lord's daughter. The very same man who was now waiting to greet them at the city's gates.

"Ser Jon Hollard, a knight sworn to House Darklyn." Gwayne whispered to the king's ear, as their party approached. Their entourage, with thirty soldiers wearing the Targaryen armor, was certainly an impressive sight. "And brother-in-law to Lord Denys."

The fucker had not only broken his nose.

He had also married the girl.

Jon Hollard recognized him too. An arrogant smile touched his lips as soon as he recognized Gwayne's crooked nose. He was a burly knight, a few inches taller than Gwayne, with reddish hair and a peculiar mustache above his upper lip. He was riding a stallion, maintaining a squire close at hand mounted on his own horse. A helmet with a long feather made him look ridiculous. Ten guardsmen, with shields and wearing chain mail hauberks, were right behind him.

"Your Grace." Ser Jon greeted, climbing down from his horse to kneel on the mud. The feather balanced ridiculously at the wind's will. "Lord Darklyn sent me on his behalf to welcome you to our city and escort you to the castle."

The king threw him an unpleasant glance.

"Then, what are you doing down in the mud?" Aerys retorted, coldly dismissing Hollard's bow. "I'm not here to lose time with a knight I have never heard about."

Jon Hollard stood upon his feet, and the arrogant smile was gone.

It was Gwayne's time to smirk.

And so they rode on to Dun Fort. It was clear the visit was not a joyful one. There were no flowers on the cobble street stones, no songs and praises as the king crossed the city or even children running behind the kinglanders. The streets and the market square seemed rather gloomy under the cloudy sky. On their way, Gwayne noticed a few guardsmen placed at the streets, making sure the city was secure and that no one would dare attempt something against the King.

A few merchants passed through, bowing their heads recognizing the three-headed-dragon on the banner leading the party. Many were also watching from their windows or doors, but rare were the ones courage enough to get down to the street.

"They are afraid of me." Aerys whispered to Gwayne, when they finally reached the castle's gates. He was glad people were hiding like sewer rats, as if all were aware the Doom had finally come for them. "But they will cherish and call my name when we leave. I'm here to get rid of the witch."

_Are they afraid or are they angry?_

The stillness of a city like Duskendale – with a market and a port – was something rare to find. The horse hooves echoed through the cobblestone streets, joining the gulls calls above. Aerys climbed out of his mount as soon as they reached Dun Fort's courtyard. Gwayne followed quickly, going directly to the king's side, while checking upon his own men through the gates. All thirty of them, clad in their dark armor with the dragon emblazoned in red on their breastplates, were already inside. They gathered orderly, delivering their horses to the boys from the castle's stable that came to their aid.

There were a few more Darklyn guardsmen inside the castle, as Gwayne expected. It was the Darklyn Seat, after all, so it was more than expected that their numbers surpassed the thirty men escorting the king. The Kingsguard counted at least another fifteen, standing at guard in different places: on the courtyard, on the battlements of the castle and the windows.

_And there are certainly more_.

Not that there were many ways of escape, if one proved necessary. They were obviously outnumbered. If something was to go amiss, it would be practically impossible to leave the castle without being detained by a guard. And even if by some miracle an escape was possible, they had still to flee from the city.

_Things must go smoothly if we want to leave alive_, he thought to himself, uneasily. The king seemed also aware of the guardsmen, counting them silently while stripping his riding gloves. His squire helped him remove the helmet. Yet, the king was far from nervous, as the squire opened the wooden box to give him the golden crown he had brought from the Red Keep. He was impatient, clearly displeased with the fact that Lord Denys had not received him by the gatehouse. But somehow, he was also confident. And willing to prove all of them who was the king.

_This is not the time to be petty. _

The defiant lord of Duskendale was not far.

Lord Denys Darklyn was waiting by the castle's main entrance. He was a striking man, close to forty-years old. He had long blond hair and striking blue eyes. Not a cold blue, but a dreamy shade of it, Gwayne noted. His skin was pale, almost as pale as the white stone of the city's walls. Beside his lady wife, he seemed a ghost. Lady Serala of Myr distinguished herself easily from the castle's garrison. She had darker skin than anyone else on the courtyard, and curly hair dark as obsidian. Her eyes, just like emeralds, glinted with curiosity at the king. There was a collar around her neck with a golden serpent.

_The witch_.

There were other Darklyns, bowing their heads alongside the lord and lady of the castle. Cilliad Darklyn, the younger brother of Lord Denys, was there, as well as his twin, Cedric. And, of course, Rahenna Darklyn, the wife of Ser Jon Hollard, the very same woman from whom Gwayne had stolen a kiss once upon a time. Her features were quite like the ones of her siblings. She had grown softer, maintaining her blond hair and pale skin. And there was a child in her arms, with eyes round as coins. A son, no more than three-years old.

_This was the life I could have had, _he thought, feeling his heart tight.

Was it worry or regret? He shook his head.

No time for dreams.

The Darklyns – and some Hollards who were part of the welcoming entourage – kept bowing their heads as King Aerys approached.

"Your Grace." Lord Denys greeted, his nose still turned to the ground.

"Lord Denys Darklyn, it seemed your wish was granted." Aerys commenced, with a steely voice.

The Lord of Duskendale rose his face, curious.

"Your Grace?" He asked. Gwayne read some relief in his eyes.

Oh, but only if it was that easy.

"May the Seven take you, Lord Denys. Don't look at me that way." The king mocked, the coldness still enveloping his words. "You wished for my visit, so here I am. Just that for the moment."

"Oh, I see, Your Grace." Denys replied, more firmly this time. He was pale and could have a feeble look about him but was no fool. "I'm sure we will have time to discuss."

"Yes." The king, though, had already moved his eyes to Lady Serala.

"I believe you have met my wife previously, Your Grace." Denys intervened, gesturing toward the myrish woman. "Lady Serala of—"

"Am I here to negotiate with your wife?" Aerys asked, bluntly, his eyes descending to Lady Serala's dress. Gwayne gulped, noticing Lord Denys was well aware the king was staring to the lady's breasts, as if she was no more than a market cow.

"No, Your Grace." Responded Denys, clenching his teeth. "I deal with my own matters despite the ill rumors my people are spreading about my wife."

Lady Serala kept silent, but her eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Certainly." Aerys replied, returning his eyes to Lord Denys. "Rumors are just rumors, but sometimes they hide some truth. Well, but enough of this. I haven't travelled this far to be coldly greeted in your courtyard. Take me inside so we can talk." Aerys eyes moved to the row of Darklyns, Hollards and all the others still hoping to greet him. "Preferably not with your lot staring at me."

_Rash words_, Gwayne said, noticing Lord Denys was far from please. Even so, it seemed the Defiant Lord of Duskendale was not a man to fear. His words stammered when he didn't try to steady his voice and he glanced constantly to his wife from time to time. Could the rumors be true? According to gossip, the charter intrigue had started only because Lady Serala had planted seeds in her husband's mind. The Lace Serpent, the people called her.

"We can accommodate your men in the barracks." Lady Serala intervened, boldly, proving to have a voice of her own. "I have prepared beds for fifty men, Your Grace. And also food and wine. I suppose they must be weary after the storm."

Aerys exchanged a glance with Ser Gwayne.

"No." Aerys said, his eyes locked on his Kingsguard. "The men came to defend me and, until the matter is decided, they _will_ stay at my side."

"Your Grace, that is pretty unnecessary." Lord Darklyn insisted. "You are our guest and—"

"Steel and flesh protect me better than bread and water, Lord Darklyn." Aerys retorted again. He glanced to the customary plate of bread and the glass of water carried by a little Darklyn girl. The guest right was offered to grant them protection, but the king had not moved to take it.

"You want to bring all your men while we talk, Your Grace?" Lord Denys asked, not making an effort to camouflage the sarcasm.

"Yes." The king replied, sternly. He touched the scabbard of the sword at his waist.

"There is no place for so many men in my private room."

"The Great Hall will do just fine." Aerys replied. "I wouldn't expect any less from a royal visit."

Denys smirked, again not hiding the sarcasm.

"Then, Your Grace, I shall bring my men too."

Aerys laughed, crossing his arms.

"You will do as your king commands."

Tension raised in the air.

Gwayne placed his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to pull it out if need be. Lord Denys' eyes noticed his movement, before facing again the king. While the two men faced themselves in a game of pride, light rain drops started to fall again. A child screamed somewhere close. A flock of gulls cried from the sky and, finally, Lord Denys opened his mouth again to cut through the tension.

"I'm afraid I can't do your bid, Your Grace." He insisted. "I must look out for my safety, as you must look after yours. I'm sure you understand."

"You dare refuse an order coming from your king?" Aerys asked. "After evading your duty to the Iron Throne? You are treading on thin ground here, Lord Denys."

"All I do, Your Grace, I do on behalf of my family." He replied, trying to be as humble as he could. There was no sarcasm. "I don't intend to offend you. I just want to make sure I'm still the lord under my own roof."

"I respect that." Aerys retorted. He was growing irritated by the rain. "But I don't appreciate your defiance, Lord Denys. Even so, I will allow that you bring fifteen men. Not even one more. If you don't accept such terms, I will leave, and no negotiation will be made."

"It is a sensible decision, Your Grace."

Ser Symon Hollard, the master-at-arms at Dun Fort, obliged immediately, gathering a small group of men. Jon Hollard was one of the knights who integrated the escort, bringing with him his squire, a nephew called Robin. Cilliad and Cedric Darklyn were also summoned, each one of them with longswords at their waists. All the other men were guardsmen, with lances on their hands and swords at their waists.

_Fifteen that fight for thirty._

Among the tumult of men being organized, Gwayne noticed Lady Serala whispering something into Lord Denys' ear. She had a wicked smile, he noticed, a smile just as twisted as the golden serpent on her throat. Lord Denys nodded, smiling nervously, before kissing her on the forehead.

"Shall we enter, Your Grace?" Denys asked, climbing the first steps.


	3. Defiance

**DEFIANCE**

The Great Hall was located deep inside the castle. Its windows overlooked the port and tapestries on the walls depicted scenes typical of a common day in Duskendale. Large chandeliers hung from the archway ceiling, casting the light of a dozen candles into the cold and obscure room. The entire place was surrounded by a superior gallery, from where it hanged more banners with the sigil of House Darklyn. A great table occupied the middle of the room, with a dais on the end opposite the entry door.

As they entered, the men with the Targaryen armor took their place around the hall, while the Duskendale entourage climbed the dais, forming a row behind the wooden chair of their lord. A servant brought wine, dragging a chair – not fit for a king, but a chair nonetheless – so that His Grace could take his place right across the dais.

As he positioned himself behind the king's chair, Gwayne checked again the pommel of his sword. Lord Denys had not even requested them to leave their weapons outside. The man knew such a battle would be a lost one.

"So, Lord Denys, I want to be quick about it, as I presume you do too." Aerys commenced, sipping from a glass of wine the servant had poured him. He was the only one drinking.

"Nothing in this world would bring more joy to my heart than to put this matter to rest, Your Grace." Lord Denys started, inclining himself forward in his chair. His twin brothers were siding him, and Ser Symon positioned right behind him. "Shall I start by presenting my proposal?"

"You may not." Aerys replied, looking directly to the lord across the room. "The matter is quite simple to me, Lord Denys. You are late paying your taxes. For the respect I nurture for House Darklyn and the welfare of the Crownlands, I'm willing to pardon you. Yours is a noble and ancient House. I certainly respect that, as my ancestors did."

There was a pause for a few moments. Some of the men in the dais moved on their feet, whispering something among themselves.

"Nevertheless," The king continued, considering his fingernails. "The law _is_ the law, and I won't be gentle if no sense comes to your mind. You will pay what you are due to the Iron Throne, or I will deal with you as a traitor." His purple eyes glinted menacingly to the twins. "I hear your myrish woman have not given you any children." The Lord of Duskendale sniffed again, clenching his teeth. He didn't like the way his wife was being treated, even if Aerys was being benevolent. Gwayne recalled the names the king had called her on their way. Witch. Whore. Harlot. "I would be doing your brothers a favor if I were to sentence you to death. I bet one of those two right there would like to be lord in your stead."

The twins didn't say a word but exchanged a glance with one another. Denys didn't look at them at all, his eyes locked on the king and only him.

"You are indeed gentle, Your Grace." Lord Denys replied, after considering his words for a moment. "But I invited you here to tell you my proposal. At least, allow me to present it to you, so you can make your final decision with all the information available. Besides, my request is rather reasonable. I'm sure you will consider it differently this time."

Aerys laughed again.

"You are bolder than I thought, Lord Denys." He said, amused by the challenge before him. "But the matter is decided."

Gwayne moved uncomfortably.

Should he say something to the king? Hearing a proposal couldn't do any harm.

"I _must_ insist, Your Grace."

Aerys rolled his eyes.

"You insist a lot. I agreed you could bring your men, but I won't allow you to—"

"Before Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters landed on the Seven Kingdoms, Duskendale bloomed thanks to his commerce." Lord Denys had no shame interrupting the king. Aerys stood with his mouth open midsentence for a few seconds.

"How dare you defy me?" He screamed, angrily.

But the Lord of Duskendale was indeed becoming a defiant one.

"Our port was one of the greatest in the East Shore." Denys continued, standing on both his feet. "Our roads led to the domains of the Storm Kings, the Kings of the Rock and the Gardeners of the Reach, long before the dragons came from across the Narrow Sea. Carriages with spices, silks and jewels left our city to return carrying piles of gold.

"But when the dragonking came, our splendor suffered a hard blow, Your Grace. The old men in my family still repeat to the future generations the tale of Visenya Targaryen, and how she took our city and most of our treasure. We bended the knee, and our House swore allegiance to House Targaryen, but with the promise that we were free to trade and replenish the gold that had been taken from us to help the cause of Aegon the Conqueror.

"With our gold, a city was built in the following decades close to the Blackwater Rush. King's Landing. The walls that surround it, the fortress King Maegor started to build and even the roads paved after the orders of King Jaehaerys I were all paid with our gold. Our treasure shaped the new city, and the heart of the Seven Kingdoms.

"However, the promise that Visenya Targaryen made to my ancestors was broken by the time King Aenys I came upon the Iron Throne. The same tariffs imposed to any other city of the Crownlands were applied to us and, once again, my people obliged. The crown needed our gold, and we were willing to pay it. As decades became centuries, King's Landing grew. Most of the traffic we had on our ports was forever lost. The carriages filled with gold became rarer and rarer. Many ships stop docking in our port, navigating swiftly to the capital. Duskendale, the great city of the Eastern Shore, started to falter and King's Landing was the one to blame."

The king had grown silent, but he was not pleased. Gwayne could sense his anger, as if the blood of the dragon was simmering in his veins.

"This is why, Your Grace, I ask only for what is just." Denys finished, opening his arms. "I beg you to honor Princess Visenya's word. _Your _ancestor's word. By allowing Duskendale a charter, we would be free from the tariffs imposed by the Iron Throne. We could sell again and sell a lot more without any restriction. We could use the gold to restore the greatness of this city. And I'm not even asking you for a permanent charter, Your Grace. I'm humble enough to request it only for a decade or so, enough time for us to replenish our coffers."

Denys snapped his fingers and a maester moved from among the guardsmen behind him. The young man had a roll of parchment in his hand, as well as a flask of ink and a quill.

"This is a moving story, Lord Denys." Aerys said, controlling his words. The maester approached slowly, afraid of the expression transforming the king's face. "But I never heard of such a promise."

"My Maester can show you the document Princess Visenya signed, Your Grace." He said. "I beg you to mend a broken promise. Sign your name by Queen Visenya's signature and grant us our freedom."

The king received the roll of parchment and opened it slowly. From his place, Gwayne saw what seemed to be indeed a very old writing. A dragon had been drawn on the side, with little touches of green and gold. At the end, something was signed. Something that resembled a lot like the word Visenya.

"Visenya Targaryen." The king read, very slowly. His voice had changed, Gwayne noticed. He was no longer concealing the dragon behind an armor of gallantry. He was ready to burn the Darklyns. His fingers grasped the pommel of his word once again. "This is indeed intriguing, Lord Denys. I should consult with the maesters from the Citadael to verify the authenticity of this parchment, but time is of the essence and…" The sound of paper being ripped apart echoed in the room as if the ground was breaking itself under their feet. "An old word from Visenya Targaryen, written almost three-hundreds-years ago? It means _nothing_ today. Besides, did you know my line descends not from Visenya, but _Rhaenys_? I don't owe anything to bloody Visenya. Her line was the one that gave us Maegor the Cruel, and no one else. I must, however, maintain my duty to the realm."

Lord Denys' smile was gone.

"I'm afraid I can't accept your terms, Your Grace."

"Then we are still at odds, Lord Denys." Aerys said, standing up. "I gave you a chance to make it right. I was willing to forgive you and spare your House from blood and discord. Let it be known I offered mercy for your crime. But you have scorned my offer." When the king pointed a finger to the Lord of Duskendale, Gwayne knew what was about to happen. He readied his sword. "You two." He said, talking directly to the Darklyn twins siding Denys Darklyn. "The first of you to hand me Lord Denys in chains will be the new Lord of Duskendale."

This was a turning point.

Gwayne looked instinctively to the twins' eyes.

The play made by the King had caused confused them. Greediness overlapped loyalty in Cedric's eyes. Cilliad Darklyn placed a hand upon his brother's shoulder, as if willing to obey. Perhaps they were truly willing to sacrifice him to the Iron Throne, to get rid of his wife and have a chance to step out of the shadows. It was a cruel ploy, turning brother against brother, but the Targaryen history was the living proof that it could change the course of the world.

Darklyns, even so, were not Targaryens.

"We are not that kind of family, Your Grace." Lord Denys replied, standing up. A sad smile crossed his lips, all hope crushed. "Don't make this harder than it is. Accept my proposal and—"

"I have heard enough of _you_!" Aerys screamed, again. He unsheathed the sword at his waist. "Ser Gwayne, bring me Lord Denys. I will execute him under his own roof for being a traitor and I wish do it myself."

On the dais, Symon Hollard took a step forward, placing himself before his lord. Gwayne had also grabbed the pommel of his sword and commanded five of his men to step forward, building a human wall between the king and the dais. He was too focused on what was happening below to consider the movement above.

"Any men willing to defend a traitor is a traitor himself." The king roared, pointing his sword onwards. "I will wipe out the Darklyns out of this world, if needed."

"I don't believe you will, Your Grace." It was Symon Hollard the one replying now. He nodded to someone and just like that everything started to go amiss.

An arrow was fired from the gallery, finding its way to the eye of one of the Targaryen guards. The bloody idiot had the visor of his helmet opened. The guard was dead when his body clashed against the floor. The sound of swords being unsheathed echoed immediately through the Great Hall. Gwayne pulled the sword out of its scabbard, turning his eyes to the gallery above them.

Six archers were placed on the bannisters, observing quietly. Their arrows were on place, ride to fire. And all of them were pointed to the king. Aerys himself, Gwayne noticed, seemed aghast.

Was the dragon feeling trapped at last?

"Don't take any other step." Lord Denys claimed, his voice trembling. "Or else the next arrow will target the king's eye."

Gwayne looked again around him.

Nine archers, after all. Three more had come from a door hidden behind a tapestry. None of them would be able to fire to the king's chest but, unfortunately, Aerys had replaced his helmet for his crown. An arrow could easily meet his head and end him, just like the guard laying on the floor.

The order had only to be given.

"Are you threatening your king, Darklyn?" The King asked, a vein popping in his head.

_If an arrow doesn't kill him, the fury in his heart will._

"I'm fighting for my people, Your Grace."

Gwayne remained still, his eyes moving all around the room, trying to find an escape somehow.

"You are a fool, Darklyn." Aerys continued. "And yours dreams of greatness will only bring doom to your family."

Lord Denys sniffed, considering the menace for a few seconds.

"Give me the charter, and I will let you go."

"I would rather die."

Denys turned his head, whispering something to his master-at-arms.

"Surrender your swords, all of you, or I will not spare your king." Symon said.

Gwayne looked at his guards, who were looking back at him.

_I will shed my blood for the blood of the crown._

Slowly, Ser Gwayne lowered his sword. His men followed him. Ser Symon advanced forward, as two other guards ready their weapons.

"I won't be taken as prisoner." Aerys muttered, furious. "I won't let _him_ have the last laugh."

Somehow, Gwayne knew the king was not referring to Lord Denys, but to the Hand who had counseled him not to come to Duskendale.

_The fool will not surrender_, he realized, noticing how the king was wielding his sword, ready to cut down the first man that approached him. This could very well be the end. _The king will die on my duty, but I won't have blood on my hands_. No, that was a lie. He knew that was a lie. If the king wasn't stopped, blood would be spilled.

_I will pray for you to keep my husband safe_.

He closed his eyes just for a fraction of a second, and then wielded his sword.

"Follow my lead, Your Grace."

The king could die. Or he could survive. Even so, as a Kingsguard, he had to try or die trying. He wouldn't break his holy vow, no matter how much he wanted to free his queen. Signaling the guards to come to his aid, he pushed the king to the floor and threw himself on top of him. The king's sword slid across the floor, just as it did his crown, both lost among the fighting already happening by the dais.

Arrows fell from the gallery instantly, was he knew they would, but his armor and body shielded the king. One of them managed to pierce his left underarm, finding its way between the armor. A shot of pain made him grit his teeth, as the warmness of blood trickled beneath the chainmail.

"Don't leave my side, Your Grace." He whispered to the king. Aerys was agitated, though, screaming words Gwayne refused to listen. He squirmed beneath him, trying to release himself.

As four Targaryen guards came finally to Gwayne's aid, he heard the clash of steel. He raised his face, to see the men charging down from the dais, with their swords and lances raised. The visor of his helmet was a small one, but enough for him to see Symon Hollard instructing the Darklyn guards.

"Shield the king!" Gwayne yelled the order to his own men.

His guards turned their backs to him and gathered around him in a circle, shielding him and the king with their bodies. They were fighting already the first men headed toward them. Gwayne stood up, finally releasing the king and help him on his feet.

"What are you doing?" Aerys asked him, screaming. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm saving your life, Your Grace." He said, his eyes away from the king's face. The pain under his arm was nothing but a nuisance. He had to try reach the door. _An escape will be impossible,_ a voice reminded him on the back of his mind. Yes, but he had to try. He removed his helmet and placed it on the king's head. "This will protect you."

Keeping hold of the king's arm with his left hand and wielding his sword with the right, Gwayne started moving to the door. The guards understood his movement, following his steps like a dance. Arrows continued raining down from the gallery, and one of them almost hit his head, but he averted them. _Maybe the Seven are blessing me for keeping my vows_. Slowly, he continued moving toward the Great Hall's door.

Jon Hollard and five guards barred his way.

"A broken nose was not enough for you, was it, Ser Noisey?" He provoked, bringing down his sword to the guard leading the way.

Their little group was surrounded. At least eleven men, all clad with the Darklyn colors, were fighting the four guards shielding the king. A few smaller skirmishes were happening among the Hall, but every sword was trying to get to the king one way or another. An arrow grazed through his cheek, slicing it.

"I will burn this castle to the ground!" Yelled the king, right behind him. "I will burn the entire city!"

_We will never survive,_ he thought bitterly, as the guard fighting Jon Hollard fell with an arrow buried in his skull.

"A Kingsguard hiding beneath another man? It doesn't surprise me coming from you, ser." Jon Hollard provoked yet again, raising his sword.

Gwayne jumped over the dead man, stopping the attack and replying with another. Behind him, the three guards left continued fighting, closing their ranks on the king. Aerys' screams continued ringing above the song of steel.

"I don't _hide_." He answered, clashing his sword. "And when I fight my foe, I fight him on my own." Gwayne averted a strike made by a Darklyn soldier that had come to help Hollard bring him down.

A scream behind him made Gwayne turned his head.

The human shield was broken, he noticed. One of the guards was dead and the other two had been brought to his knees. The king was at the hands of Darklyn's soldiers, who had already removed the helmet and threw it away. And Aerys screamed, as if his yells alone could save the entire Seven Kingdoms.

That distraction was enough for Hollard to disarm him. The clash of steel on the floor sounded like thunder, as he realized his sword was gone from his hand.

"Any last words?"

Before Ser Gwayne could do anything else, he felt the feeble hands of the king behind him, trying to grab him by his waist. His captors got hold of him quickly and pulled him away. Three knights and Jon Hollard's squire.

The point of Jon's sword kissed Gwayne's neck.

He spat on his opponent face.

"Don't be a bloody fool, Jon." Ser Symon said, coming from behind. "We need prisoners, and this one here is worth a lot."

When Jon peeked from the corner of his eye to check upon Ser Symon, Gwayne kicked him between the legs with all the strength he had. Taking hold of the moment, he grabbed the sword by the blade, and turned it in his hand quickly enough to grasp the pommel.

He had to get to the king to try to stop this madness.

Arrows continued to fly down to stop the men wearing the Targaryen colors. A few of them, at least half a dozen, had gave up their swords willingly and knelt on the floor. Another handful of them were dead, laying with their throws ripped apart or with arrows on their heads. Pools of blood stained the stone slabs. The remainder were either fighting Darklyn guards or trying to reach the king.

Aerys had been taken to the dais. The king of the Seven Kingdoms was been played around like a toy by lords, knights and even squires. They laughed as he yelled. There was pain in his words, threats to burn them down, but also madness. Robin Hollard, the little squire, was pulling the king's beard while dancing around him. Another knight was ripping apart his tunic. Other had the royal crown upon his temples. The golden rings of the king were being passed from hand to hand.

This was unacceptable, a violation of what was most sacred.

Gwayne started marching toward the dais, raising his sword.

_I will shed my blood for the blood of the crown._

He was going to die, but first he would at least kill Denys Darklyn. The Lord of Duskendale was laughing while observing the macabre spectacle.

A sword clashed against Gwayne's.

Ser Symon had read his heart and had come from nowhere.

"Lay down your sword, ser Gwayne. You don't have to die."

Gwayne replied by striking his sword, aiming for Ser Symon's neck. He missed, surprisingly enough. Up until that point, he had not noticed his body was failing him. But yes, he had lost a lot of blood thanks to wound in his left arm. He only remembered that when he realized his hands were shaking.

"No." He said, not giving up. "I made a vow and I will die before breaking it."

"Then, you are of no use to us, ser." Ser Symon had stopped every attack gracefully and had not attacked back. Not even once. But pity touched his eyes, as well as the will to finish him.

It was a quick death.

It started with pain, when the Symon's blade shattered Gwayne's head. It pierced through his right eye, destroying half of his head in a single blow. Half of the world turned dark instantly, as his knees fell beneath him. Something warm trickled down his face. _Like tears of fire, _he thought, _or rain kisses_. And then everything vanished, and the yells of the king faded. The laughter of the lords gave place to the song of birds.

_May the Seven bring you back safely, ser, _she had said, sweetly.

It seemed he would fail her, but as he died, he smiled.

He died as knight should die.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Curious to read more? From this point onwards, the story diverge from canon, but you can read it in "A Legacy of Flames". Go to the link in my bio to read the story so far.


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